


Back to Yours

by Habren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Contemplative introspective smut, F/F, another version of how these two could have gotten together, but not a lot because I suck at writing angst, with a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habren/pseuds/Habren
Summary: Hermione’s gaze trailed the bead of condensation meandering down the neck of her beer bottle. She hated beer, yet for months now she sat on the same barstool every Friday night. Like clockwork. All since that fateful Friday three months ago when she’d run into her. Hermione had wanted to escape and thought Muggle London would offer her refuge. What were the odds?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 187





	Back to Yours

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened yesterday. I've been meaning to write a one-shot based on the song "Back to Yours" by Markus Feehily for months, and to be honest, the lovely feedback I've received for "Out of Ashes" kinda inspired me to finally write it. That said, I cannot seem to write a true angsty story, so this turned out differently than planned. 
> 
> No worries. I'm still working on revising the sequel to OoA, and I hope to upload it this coming weekend or early next week. 
> 
> EM, thanks again for indulging me and reading this.  
> TT, as always. I'll post nothing without you having read it. Thank you for reading this right away, and for surviving the face palm moment :-)
> 
> BG. Nothing has changed.

Hermione’s gaze trailed the bead of condensation meandering down the neck of her beer bottle. She hated beer, yet for months now she sat on the same barstool every Friday night. Like clockwork. All since that fateful Friday three months ago when she’d run into _her_. Hermione had wanted to escape and thought Muggle London would offer her refuge. What were the odds?

It was difficult to keep her eyes off her. For years now, the blonde witch had become somewhat of an obsession. Of hatred at first. Harry bleeding Potter and his bleeding heart too big for his bloody, scrawny chest. He’d told _everyone_ what the blonde witch had done. He’d given interviews in the Daily Prophet about it. How she’d allowed the light to win the war, how without her help, Voldemort would have won.

The wizarding community ate it up. Always ready for a redemption story, especially one who looked so breathtakingly beautiful. And then, when she’d turned her back on her husband and divorced him even before he’d been sentenced to Azkaban, well, that had proven it all to the masses. And they embraced her. Suddenly, she was everywhere.

Hermione had resented her, the living memory of the worst night of her life. All the sacrifices Harry, Ron, her, and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, and magical folks all over Britain had endured to fight Voldemort, all the pain and losses. Yet here she was. Celebrated. The woman who’d played hostess to that vile snake-eyed monster, who had stood by and allowed her deranged sister... Hermione clenched her jaw. That particular memory still stung.

She didn’t know when or how things had changed, but she knew her focus on the blonde witch had morphed from an angry obsession to a lustful one, and then, even worse, to one tinged with grudging respect that eventually shifted into admiration and genuine care.

The blonde witch worked as a potions master at St. Mungo’s, dealing with curse victims, and apparently, had treated and healed many lost causes. She’d also donated much of her huge fortune to help rebuild after the war, with some funds toward compensation for the survivors of Voldemort’s reign of terror. That part wasn’t public, but Hermione had her ways, and she knew. The blonde witch hadn’t done any of this to save her reputation or to impress people, given that she kept it all a secret.

She’d even covered for half a term at Hogwarts until Minerva had found a suitable professor for potions. She’d been a regular guest at charity events and dinners, and they kept running into each other. Everywhere. Hermione would hold her steely gaze and shudder. How she wished...

There’d never been a plus-one at any of these events for either of them, and Hermione wasn’t privy to any rumors of a new love interest for the former Malfoy matriarch. They never talked, though, just stared at each other.

Now, every Friday, upon some unspoken agreement, they’d meet at the same Muggle dive bar. A dingy, dark place that held no risk of getting caught. In the smoke filled, musky room saturated with alcohol where the smell alone could make you drunk, no one expected to find the Golden Girl. Or the redeemed former villain who had saved them all. 

They didn’t talk. Sat apart. Drinking their beers. Ignoring the advances from sweaty, unctuous men of all ages. They didn’t even look at each other. Then, Hermione paid and left, only to wait outside until the moment the door opened and the sickening odor of the bar stretched its claws out again only to be replaced by the sweet scent of Narcissa Black, halting right behind her. So close. But they didn’t touch. Hermione didn’t understand how the other woman could still smell this good after having spent half an hour in that sweltering hell. She reached out her hand and trembled when Narcissa’s soft, warm fingers tangled with hers.

A crack. They apparated inside the motel room Hermione had rented for the night. They still didn’t speak, not with words. They stared at each other until one of them broke. That night, it was Hermione who shattered first and grasped Narcissa’s forearms and pulled her close, crashing their mouths together.

The blonde witch groaned and wrapped her arms around Hermione, digging her fingers into her back, deepening the kiss.

There was despair, like every Friday. Their couplings were fast paced and frantic, stolen, forbidden moments, and afterward, Hermione felt wrecked by misery and self-recrimination, left to wonder what Narcissa got out of their trysts. But by the time the next Friday crawled around, she’d forgotten about all that and instead, once more filled with equal measures of excitement and trepidation, she found her seat in that terrible bar again.

That had been the case at least for the first two months of their meetings. Then, the doubts lingered. She wasn’t sure you could even call them doubts. It was a dreadful mixture of longing and anguish. These meetings weren’t enough, but that’s all they ever could be, and Hermione had tried to be OK with that. She’d tried to adjust her expectations, but they still ran away and built fanciful castles in the sand, only to see them washed away by the tides of reason that invariably washed upon the shore.

Tears shot into Hermione’s eyes. She doubted her decision the moment Narcissa’s hot tongue stroked into her mouth. It was the right thing to do, though. This couldn’t continue. She’d gone over this a million times and scribbled down foot long lists on parchment for why this was best. Then why did the idea alone hurt so much? Why did her heart stutter in her chest before stumbling to a halt and along with it, everything went heavy and dark? Why did this have to happen? What was wrong with her?

Narcissa broke the kiss and then all rules. She pressed her lips against Hermione’s forehead, drawing a soft gasp from Hermione’s lips before the blonde witch loosened her hold and stepped back. “Are you all right?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. They didn’t talk.

“Yes. No,” Hermione said and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered.

“I see,” Narcissa said and straightened her robes.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“This was always going to happen. I’m surprised it has taken this long for you to see it.”

“See what?

“That this is a folly.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, her gaze finding her feet.

“I wish you the best,” Narcissa said in a voice so soft it made Hermione’s heart ache.

“Please don’t leave,” Hermione muttered.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment but then nodded.

“I...it’s not that I don’t…ugh,” Hermione huffed and dropped on the bed.

“You don’t need to explain anything. I never had any expectations. I knew this would end.”

“Why does it have to end?”

“Excuse me?”

“I…it’s been good, hasn’t it? These last few months?”

Narcissa chuckled. “Yes, dear.”

“Then why does it have to end?”

Narcissa raised a sculptured eyebrow. “You were the one who said you can’t do this anymore.”

“Right. I just meant…” Hermione blushed.

“What?”

“I know this isn’t what you are looking for. I mean, you can have anyone you want and I’m just—"

“Are you serious? _You’r_ e the one who shows up in this terrible Muggle bar, who never talks and just… I’m _your_ dirty secret and I understand. Given our past and—”

“What? You _never_ objected to meeting in hotel rooms and you always…you never let me talk because we’re always…”

“Having sex? You can do it but not say it?” Narcissa smirked.

Hermione fidgeted. “I have a confession to make.”

Narcissa tilted her head but remained silent.

“I’ve been following you.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened and she took a step back.

“No, no,” Hermione rushed out. “Not in a creepy way. Not like that. Just...whenever we’d run into each other, I’d...I can’t take me eyes off you.”

“I know,” Narcissa said.

Hermione ducked her head.

“I know because I’m always staring at you.”

Hermione’s head snapped up and her gaze found Narcissa’s. “What happens next?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Why? What do you want?”

Narcissa laughed and Hermione flinched. That wasn’t a happy laugh.

“What I want is irrelevant,” Narcissa said, holding Hermione’s gaze.

Hermione wasn’t sure if this was wishful thinking, but she thought she saw a glimmer of sorrow mixed with longing in the other woman’s eyes.

“It matters to me.”

A soft smile spread over Narcissa’s face. “Do you want to leave?”

“What? No!”

Narcissa chuckled. “I meant leave this...establishment,” she said, her gaze traveled from seedy, grey carpeting to wallpaper bedecked with water stains.

“Oh. OK. Where will we go?”

“Back to yours?” Narcissa’s eyes darkened and Hermione jumped off the bed.

“Yes. Let’s do that.” She rushed toward Narcissa, held out her hand and smiled when the blonde witch grasped her hand in a firm grip before Hermione apparated them back to her flat. Oh Merlin, was her place up for a visit by Narcissa? She’d dropped her cereal bowl into the sink but what did she do after lunch, and her bedroom?

Before the panic could result in a nervous breakdown, they appeared in her flat and Narcissa, wasting no time to even glance at her surroundings, lunged at Hermione, pressing their lips together before stepping so close her body heat and earthy scent threatened to drown Hermione. A little sigh fell from her lips.

***

This was _the_ worst idea she’d ever had, and Narcissa had had plenty of them in her life, in fact, she had an entire collection of horrible, no good decisions that still haunted her. However, her greatest flaw was denying herself what she desired, and she doubted she’d ever craved anything or anyone more than the bleeding brightest witch of her age, the Golden Girl and darling of the wizarding world.

Four years after the war, there were still monthly articles in the Daily Prophet gossiping about the lives of their heroes, speculating about their futures and suggesting eligible bachelors for Hermione, given that the other two had already settled down and therefore didn’t need the sage advice of the Daily Prophet’s opinion fluff pieces.

Narcissa couldn’t count the times she’d balled up that horrible news rag and threw it into the fireplace or used it in her small owlery. All these men were only after Hermione for her fame. At least that notion allowed Narcissa some relief, though she knew it was a lie. There was so much more to Hermione than her reputation in their community.

Her intellect alone left Narcissa salivating, not to mention her kindness and willingness to reach out and help people, even those non-deserving of any support for their deeds had forfeited any such grace. Naturally, she counted herself among that category.

Oh, she’d tried to make amends, and had used both her money and her skills to help people. She knew the wizarding world had forgiven her and even embraced her for the selfish act of lying to the Dark Lord because she despaired for the life of her son. Leave it to Potter to turn that into a noble act. You only had to consider what he’d done for Severus. Why, Narcissa wouldn’t be surprised if they erected a statue in Snape’s honor at Hogwarts or even the ministry. A forever scowling Severus with billowing robes and narrowed eyes.

Their first meeting in that sleazy Muggle bar several months ago hadn’t been as much of a coincidence as Hermione seemed to believe. Narcissa had seen her stroll through Muggle London, having been out to buy Draco something called bowling shoes for this Muggle sport he’d picked up with Harry Potter of all people. His birthday was coming up and he’d been complaining about the need for such attire.

Hermione had never noticed her and when she’d entered the bar, Narcissa’s curiosity had driven her to follow. In fact, she’d entered with a disillusionment charm and first observed the other witch nursing her beer before revealing herself, giving the appearance of having been there before Hermione.

What had led her to follow the dark-haired witch outside and step so close she could feel her tremble, Narcissa didn’t know. It was both the best and worst decision she’d ever made. Did it even count as a decision when she didn’t remember making it? She’d just stood there; her body having urged her along before her mind could catch up. Hermione’s little gasp followed by a low groan had been her undoing. Her stomach still clenched at the memory.

Each Friday evening that followed, Narcissa steeled herself, expecting Hermione wouldn’t show, or that something would interrupt or destroy their dance. And now her fear had come true, and for a dark and bleak moment it looked as if their entanglement would crash and burn. Only it didn’t, and instead, she found herself straddling Hermione on the dark-haired witch’s couch in her living room.

Not a place she’d pictured being tonight. Hermione’s lap, yes, at her flat, no. But Narcissa struggled to form coherent thoughts with Hermione’s tongue in her mouth and the little nibbles and bites she bestowed upon Narcissa’s lips.

Panting, Narcissa’s hands tangled in Hermione’s curls, pulling her closer while her hips rocked into Hermione.

The heat between them had burned brightly from their first encounter and only grew in intensity with each new meeting. Narcissa had never experienced a lover so keen on satisfying her every desire, and she also had never felt such urgency to see and hear her partner fall apart beneath her, and more deliciously, at her hands and tongue.

Hermione’s hands snuck under her blouse and Narcissa groaned when she scratched her fingernails down her back.

Hermione broke their kiss. “Do you want to move this to my bedroom?” She asked.

“Yes,” Narcissa said, visions of laying on top of a spread-out Hermione who was writhing beneath her swam in front of her eyes and heat coiled low in her stomach.

She clambered off Hermione and pulled her up before following the dark-haired witch to the bedroom. They undressed quickly down to their underwear before Narcissa crowded Hermione and pushed her down on the bed, crawling on top of her. 

Hermione chuckled but raised a hand and pushed back Narcissa’s hair before cradling her cheek. A soft smile formed on her lips before she raised her head and captured Narcissa’s lips in a bruising, heated kiss.

Narcissa lost herself in the fiery dance of their tongues and the tremors that ran through their bodies. She ignored what Hermione’s gesture and expression had just done to her heart and the tears that had sprung into her eyes at her tender, affectionate smile.

Hermione’s hands shot to her butt and pulled her closer before sneaking her fingertips beneath her panties.

Narcissa shuddered, breaking their kiss. “Off, take them off,” she muttered and allowed Hermione to pull down her panties.

She groaned when she laid back down, Hermione’s nude form hot and smooth beneath her.

During their first few couplings, Narcissa had felt embarrassed by how wet Hermione could make her with anticipation alone and how quickly she’d always reach her first peak, but upon realizing what this did to her lover, any sense of shame was replaced with more red-hot arousal.

“I’ve missed you,” Hermione whispered before kissing her neck and following up her words by trailing her quick fingers down her body, pinching her nipples before disappearing between her legs. She moaned at discovering the liquid heat between Narcissa’s legs.

Narcissa’s head spun, both from Hermione’s words and the arousal that talented, nimble fingers drew from her body. She bowed her back and dropped her face in the crook of Hermione’s neck. Panting. She placed open-mouthed kisses against Hermione’s neck before sucking the tender skin into her mouth.

When Hermione pushed two fingers into her, Narcissa bit down where the muscular cords of Hermione’s neck met her shoulder, harder than intended. A long moan spilled from her followed by an apology that died on her lips when Hermione’s reaction to her bite, stiffening before releasing a shuddered groan, made her lightheaded and saw her hands fist the cool, crisp sheets by Hermione’s head.

Her body followed the pace of Hermione’s thrusts and heat shot in her cheeks at the almost obscene sounding wet slaps that accompanied each stroke.

Narcissa’s hips undulated as their movements sped up, and with Hermione’s gasping in her ear, her fingers inside her, and her thumb that had joined in and was rubbing against the right spot, Narcissa hurtled toward her peak with no breaks in sight. She had wanted to savor this, to slow down and control the pace, but as so often the case, Hermione surprised and overwhelmed her senses in the most delightful of ways.

Narcissa sobbed as heat twisted and feasted while tension wracked her body, growing taut at the onslaught of arousal that heightened to a fever pitch, a bow strung tight that finally snapped and released all tension. After a string of aftershocks, a wave of pure, relaxing, languid calm spread through her frame and collapsed her onto Hermione with a groan, borne from a mixture of pure satisfaction and amusement. This really shouldn’t keep getting better.

***

Hermione placed a lingering kiss against Narcissa’s sweaty temple and trailed her fingers down her damp back, pulling the blonde witch closer to her. Being here in her flat with Narcissa in her bed and in her arms felt right, and while she had treasured all those nights in shabby motel rooms since it led to her only intimate moments with Narcissa, they paled to having the blonde witch here, in her home.

Maybe she’d been wrong, or maybe not fully aware. Yes, the Friday night meetups in that terrible place followed by whatever motel they’d book for the night had to stop, but this didn’t have to end. This...if Narcissa felt the same...they could continue, or was that wishful thinking? Hermione didn’t dare to ask because she was too scared of the answer.

Narcissa raised her head and stared at Hermione silently. Her blue eyes almost completely swallowed by the pitch black of her pupils. “You are too talented at this,” she croaked.

Hermione fought the crimson flooding her cheeks. “Maybe I’m just talented at you,” she whispered. Holding Narcissa’s gaze, Hermione saw the effect her words had on her lover, and warmth filled her body at the wonder reflected at her.

“Well, then, shall we see how gifted I am at you, dear?” Narcissa husked in a tone that unleashed a blazing desire through Hermione.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Hermione breathed out.

Narcissa chuckled before bending down and kissing Hermione, licking into her mouth with that singular focus that always made Hermione’s head spin.

Narcissa shifted on-top of Hermione and their kisses continued until Hermione’s hips started to rock into the blonde witch, seeking pressure to alleviate the tension between her legs. She was close. Making love to Narcissa and watching her shatter was often almost enough for Hermione to tumble over the edge right behind, but today there’d been more distance, although not in a bad way.

It had seemed more like she was trying to memorize and catalogue each of Narcissa’s responses to store away in case...in case this didn’t last. She’d wanted to savor this, savor her, and that focus had dimmed her own arousal, shifted it to the back, at least until she became Narcissa’s sole focus.

It felt like a drug, having the blonde woman’s entire attention, having those keen azure eyes on her every move, and Hermione didn’t know how she would be able to recover should this truly be the end.

Narcissa ended their kiss by biting her lower lip, chasing away all those morose thoughts and instead, drawing her attention once more fully to the ache between her legs.

She trembled when Narcissa shifted her weight, one of her thighs pressing against the wet spot on her panties. Hermione moaned.

Narcissa slithered down her body, sucking on her breasts, nibbling at hard peaks before fully sucking them into her mouth and grazing them with her teeth.

Hermione groaned and resumed the rocking movements of her hips. She knew what Narcissa was after, and the anticipation threatened to be her undoing when her vision blurred, and her body shook.

“Are you all right?” Narcissa asked, her head resting on her hand that was splayed across Hermione’s quivering stomach.

“Yes,” Hermione said and self-consciously wiped her eyes. “I’m so close,” she whispered, a bit embarrassed by how needy she sounded, but the darkening of Narcissa’s eyes made the confession worth it.

Narcissa licked and kissed down her stomach before reaching her panties. She dropped a lingering kiss on the damp spot and Hermione’s body stiffened, trying to hold on and not come before Narcissa had even touched her naked flesh.

Suffering from similar impatience, Narcissa urged Hermione to lift her hips and pulled off her panties before, without warning or preamble, she lowered her head and licked along Hermione’s heat. She started at her entrance and her tongue played with her wetness for a second before she lapped higher, avoiding the straining nub that cried out for her attention.

Hermione groaned. “Please, Narcissa,” she whimpered.

Thankfully, Narcissa didn’t draw this out and instead sucked Hermione into her mouth, tracing rapid circles on her tender flesh.

Hermione moaned, her hips lifting, fast jerky movements that Narcissa stilled by pressing her further into the mattress, speeding up her ministrations.

Panting, Hermione’s hands found purchase in Narcissa’s hair, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to drag her closer or pull her away, and instead, she settled along the rhythmic strokes of Narcissa’s tongue and followed her tempo.

The surge of arousal that had been rising to a crescendo since she first encountered the heat between Narcissa’s legs bled into her every cell, permeated her very being and tightened her body from head to toe before a beat, hard and fast pushed her over the edge, and with it, a blinding release shook her frame; Narcissa’s name spilling from her lips.

Heavy breathing filled the room and Narcissa pressed a kiss on Hermione’s twitching mound before crawling back up only for Hermione to pull her down into a lazy kiss.

“Do you still want to quit this?” Narcissa asked, nuzzling Hermione’s cheek.

Tears filled Hermione’s eyes. “Merlin, no. Please don’t leave.”

Narcissa’s head lifted and she gazed at Hermione before shaking her head. “I know I shouldn’t stay. This will be a disaster, but Merlin help me, I cannot seem to walk away.”

Hermione’s tears spilled and trickled down her cheeks and she had to hold back a sob of sheer relief when Narcissa leaned down and kissed her tears away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! I appreciate any feedback.


End file.
